


Omamori

by lizlee83



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Malec, Other, Protective Alec Lightwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizlee83/pseuds/lizlee83
Summary: Magnus feels slightly taken for granted lately, and is left completely alone when an enemy attacks.





	1. Practice

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this; it's pretty much just pure Malec angst and fluff, but hopefully I was able to craft something believable. I wanted to explore their characters a bit, as they're portrayed on the TV series. 
> 
> I've personally always been a little annoyed at how Alec seems to take Magnus for granted on the televised version, so I addressed the issue here. This a standalone first chapter, but I might continue it :) That said, I had imagined this as a one-shot, so you can read it just as is :) There are a few more chapters with Clary and Jace, but for now this is complete. 
> 
> Please be merciful... I'm not the best writer out there, and there are probably way too many commas and descriptions. I just hope someone enjoys this, and loves these two and their cheesy, wonderful relationship as much as I do.

He wasn't used to feeling so uncertain. 

As a creature of admittedly awesome power, gifted with the incomparable confidence which can only come with the invigorating potential of a limitless lifespan, apprehension wasn’t exactly a common predisposition for a warlock. In fact, he in particular was known for a lavish, unapologetic lifestyle which exuded a blatant disregard for convention and towards the perceptions of others. 

And yet, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, had found himself fretting time and again over the perception of one other in particular. Namely, one Alec Lightwood, first talented son of an esteemed Shadow Hunter family, rumoured head-to-be of the New York Institute, brother and parabatai to the contentiously powerful Jace Wayland-come-Morgenstern, and current conqueror of his ancient and guarded heart, for better or for worse. It was definitely for worse, lately. 

Alec had cancelled their date again. 

Magnus sighed, sipping on his countless martini that evening, from the generous comforts of his sumptuous loft. The stunning view of the glimmering city lights below did not assuage the deep frown knitting through his bedazzled features. He understood that Alec’s name and title were tethered to an unavoidable burden of responsibilities which kept him busy most of the time. He understood that Alec still struggled with his newly embraced identity as an openly gay Shadow Hunter, in a world gagged by conservative traditions. He understood that he and Alec came from two incredibly different, and sometimes confrontational worlds, and that this liaison of theirs would be challenging. He also understood that his new relationship had not quite been clarified out loud yet, and he’d been content with not assigning it an official title. (Immortal half-demon cat-eyed bisexual downworld sorcerers were not really fans of labels anyway. )

However, what Magnus did not understand in his ageless wisdom, was whether or not his understanding, patience and tolerance were being rewarded. After all, he had put his long dormant heart on the line without hesitation once he’d accepted that there wasn’t any denying the pull between them. Alec, after some resistance due to his traditional upbringing, had eventually acknowledged their bond as well, and in no small way. Indeed, despite the reservations of almost an entire generation of Shadowhunters, Alec had risked his name and title for Magnus, on what was to be the most important day of his life no less. The magnitude of that gesture still brought a smile to the warlock’s lips, and he relished the warmth which spread in his chest at the thought of that infamously crashed wedding. They had both thrown their hearts into the proverbial fire and emerged generally unscathed. Recently however, that sweet memory provoked a fair amount of confusion and niggling doubts. 

That was the trouble with expectations; they rarely unfolded as planned, and often made room for disappointment. Since he and Alec had been through so much together, Magnus had hoped; expected for things to progress more easily. They hadn’t, or at least, not lately. 

They hadn’t spent any time together beyond the constant trials and tribulations of the Clave and its godsforsaken inability to keep anything under control. Further, with whisperings within the downworld of an Alliance going against the wishes of the nephilim institution to combat Valentine, Magnus knew his duties to his people would soon impose some impossibly difficult choices. Attacks from Valentine sympathizers were multiplying in frequency and intensity, and generally being met with a total incapacity on the part of the Clave to prevent any of them. Hence, relations between Shadowhunters and Downworlders had been tense lately. New leadership was being suggested at all turns, and the pressure was mounting from all sides. 

As such, Magnus knew he was being childish. Alec had obvious and pressing responsibilities, but then again… so did he, as the High Warlock, and he still found time to drop into the Institute to say hi once in a while. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but wonder if Alec was having doubts about them, for whatever reason. He did, after all, come from a painfully conservative and perpetually occupied background. 

The warlock resented the cursed vulnerability the Shadowhunter compelled in him. Resented the jittery mess he became when thinking about those veiled eyes and low voice. Centuries ago, he’d have doused his worries in fine wine and even finer jewels and thought nothing more of a lost lover (or two). But Alec was more than that. It had hit him like a violent tide the second he had laid eyes on the him (and had pretty much told him so, right off the bat). Furthermore, as he’d gotten to work alongside him through various Clave crises in its dealings with the Morgensterns, he’d also seen that Alec was more than just the veritable (tattooed) definition of tall dark and handsome. Alec was also a man of honour, compassion and deep loyalty, which had only doomed Magnus to fall harder. This made his loneliness all the more difficult, and his doubts all the more disconcerting. He was not able to quell them with his usual decadent distractions; he hadn’t wanted to.

The disheartening truth was that the warlock felt taken for granted lately. 

For all the emotions, intimacy and laughter shared, those precious moments were becoming few and far between… and when they did occur, it was only on Alec’s terms. Their relationship, if it could even be called that, had been reduced to exchanged glances in Institute Hallways, petty, stress-fuelled quarrels over the phone, dates being cut short by Clave business, or else having the Loft transformed into sort of 24/7 magical assistance counter…. Most of the time, their so-called quality time felt like some sort of afterthought to an errand for which the Shadowhunter had come to call on him. Magnus tried to be understanding. Tried not to give into the creeping neediness and resentment which had sprouted up inside him. Tried not to wonder out loud, if Alec was only with him because of how admittedly handy dating a warlock could be. After all, no matter what the ask, Magnus was quick to drop everything to go to Alexander’s rescue. Perhaps too quick. 

The worst part was how ridiculous he felt about his own reactions. Self-pity was not his style, which made it all the more despicable to deal with. He was hundreds of years old for gods’sake. These sorts of mindlessly dramatic and insecure meanderings were usually the stuff of spoiled, hormone-fuelled teenagers. 

“So be it,” he concluded sourly, sipping on his dwindling martini. As he sat on his plush divan staring out into yet another lonely night, with the threat of war as his only distraction, he knew he could no longer ignore the conflicted feelings. 

He did however, ignore the irritating buzz of his phone which was set aglow with Alexander’s name for the dozenth time. The Shadowhunter had been texting him for the past few days about this intra-magical species Council he wanted to create to help relieve anti-Clave sentiment. While it was a noble purpose, it was also the reason for their most recently cancelled rendez-vous. As such, Magnus had imposed a moratorium on his phone about an hour prior, with frustrated toss into his chesterfield’s velvety cushions. If it were an emergency, he’d have sensed it through his wards anyway, or no doubt some other Nephilim would have half-broken the door down by now. They always did. And he would of course help, like the tamed lapdog he had become. Conceivably, he was being irresponsible, but he was entitled to some sulking time. ...Wasn’t he? Since when had his life revolved solely around the Clave’s needs? 

His pickling resentment notwithstanding, he nevertheless wondered if Alexander might have spared him a duty-unrelated thought or two that night. It would have comforted him to know that ----

He’d barely had time to flip over his priceless settee before it exploded into pieces behind him, effectively shielding him from most of the magical blast. The respite was short lived however, as another purple flame came barrelling towards him seconds later. He had managed to dodge it, just barely, and could feel the gut-wrenching burn of its effects on his abdomen and limbs, which his hastily erected barrier hadn’t quite been able to deflect.

“As agile as ever, aren’t you Magnus?” a thoughtful male voice contemplated. 

The intruder was a tall, wiry man who appeared to be in his late twenties, but Magnus knew better. He could recognize the worn-down taint of countless decades of dark magic suffusing Cillian’s crisp green glare. It practically sparkled with familiar malevolence from beneath a slicked coiff of startlingly red hair, which only enhanced the angular, almost reptilian whims of his pale face. 

“Cillian,” Magnus greeted coldly, his eyes veering to a dangerous amber hue beset with cat-like slits. 

“You know, finding the counterspells to your wards may have been a bit more difficult, but finding your lair took all of 20 minutes… you’ve always been too flamboyant, my friend.” 

“And you’ve always been a few moth-holes short of a fashion sense. And truthfully, I didn’t think you were worth hiding from,” Magnus quipped coolly at the invading riff-raff, “but since you’re here, you might as well explain to me why you’ve partially destroyed my loft…I had JUST redecorated.” 

The two warlocks stood locked in a defensive standoff, circling each other like striking vipers. Cillian grinned his wide, disturbing grin, which exposed rows of fishhooked teeth against the ghostly pallor of his skin, while his own Warlock’s Mark (a long lizard’s tail protruding from the seat of his pants) whiplashed across the hardwood. 

“Let’s just say I represent a large faction of our kind who are sick of debating your allegiance.”

“Ah yes, you mean the murdering scumbag faction I presume?” Magnus replied. Cillian ignored him, but not without a twitch of his beady eyes. 

“I grew weary of waiting for someone to act, so I thought I’d get the ball rolling. The least you could do is accept your pink slip gracefully.” 

“Well, if your low-level parlour tricks were all it took to dethrone me I would happily resign anyway,” the cat-eyed warlock said, his voice dripping with exasperation. 

“Don’t take that haughty tone with me, you two-bit charlatan. Your days as High Warlock are over.”

“Now that’s hurtful. I’m a very classy charlatan, actually. Now, who sent you?” he asked unflappably. This seemed only to incense the opposing warlock more, and suddenly, all pretenses of a collected exchange were dropped.

“Your days of gallivanting with Mundanes and Nephilim are done, Bane! Those who see through your ruses know that, you won’t defend us when the time comes.”

“Cillian, do you honestly think that-”

Magnus sighed as the intruder interrupted him for yet another time that evening. He ducked from the ensuing blast, which ricocheted off his bookcase and dissolved. It became alarmingly clear that the invading warlock was done with conversation. His suddenly red eyes glowed with a shade of malice which made Magnus’ skin crawl from across the room. He wasn’t one to be easily rustled, but something about this attack wasn’t right, aside from the obvious. Over and over he dodged and deflected, barely having time to counter-attack amidst the magical onslaught. This level of power was surprising coming from the likes of Cillian, as he was nothing more than an unassigned lesser warlock, and a relatively poor one at that. Indeed, while his attacks were distinctly more powerful, Cillian’s prowess hadn’t exactly improved. He simply shot his magic crudely without much thought or aim, preferring to simply destroy everything in his path. Magnus, on the other hand, had not acquired his title by accident, and had grown quite tired of having his pretty things unceremoniously blown up by an overpowered amateur. Fortunately, he hadn’t spent the entire exchange simply reacting after all, and had in fact just been hoping to stall Cillian for information. When it became clear that the plan would yield nothing more than more broken antiques, Magnus opted to draw the curtain on this little tantrum.

“I hate to inform you, but I’m afraid you’ve officially overstayed your welcome,” he announced politely from the debris, as though he were speaking to an errant cat and not some furious warlock hell-bent on killing him. 

Speaking of felines, instants later Cillian was on the floor, pinned by a giant and considerably less cuddly version of Chairman Meow. The signature blue and violet hues of Bane magic flowed through the Magnus’ beloved pet as it hissed and pawed at the invader, unabashedly digging its formidable claws into Cillian’s writhing, cursing form. Magnus casually flicked a dose of paralyzing magic at the invader for good measure and just like that, the battle was over. 

“Thank you my dear,” Magnus said warmly (if a bit breathlessly) to his furry companion as he busied himself with making the telltale circular motions which activated portals. This one in particular would lead directly to the Clave’s prison. He wasn’t entirely sure what would happen in the near future in terms of Clave-Downworld relations, but for now the Accords still held, and that meant that fugitives were granted one-way tickets to the Nephilim jail. And so Cillian went, without another word. 

He gave the Chairman a thoughtful scratch of appreciation before the cat shrank back down to his usual stature and tentatively sniffed through the rubble. 

The High Warlock of Brooklyn was then left to take stock of the dismaying aftermath. His loft was a wreck, and more surprisingly for the usually aloof warlock, so was he. The intrusion had been the last straw to an already trying week. His feelings just as disheveled as his beloved home, Magnus couldn’t muster the will to even begin to put anything back together after the day he’d had. The burns he’d sustained from Cillian’s unexpectedly potent magic were not helping either, and only as his adrenaline waned did he start to feel slightly lightheaded. Of course, pride obliged him to ignore his body’s lamentations. Besides, it wasn’t his body which would ultimately topple him. 

As he surveyed the damage, Magnus’ gaze swept across a charred piece of paper. His breathing suddenly froze and his heart, having been teetering over dangerously near the edge all evening, finally plummeted to his toes. He collapsed to his knees and picked up the burnt artefact with shaking fingers, realizing instantly that it was the good luck charm Alec had surprised him with, from Tokyo. Clutching the omamori pathetically, the always-composed warlock felt himself crumble from the inside out.

“Well that’s just cruel,” he muttered to himself with a bit of a tremble, as Chairman Meow nuzzled his knee. “I’m not sure even I will be able to fix this.” 

\------

His chest and throat burned, and he was practically mowing down the ignorant mundanes blundering about in his glamoured path as he ran, but he didn’t care. So many calls unanswered, so many simultaneous attacks on powerful Downworlders… something was wrong. He could feel it in his rattled bones. He’d all but abandoned post at the Institute, despite lockdown, despite the temporary ban on portals, despite everything. Knowing damn well his long, well-trained legs would get him to Magnus’ faster than any mundie method of transportation, he lurched onwards towards the loft fueled by sheer dread. 

“Hold on,” he implored under his breath as he pounded the pavement mercilessly. The memory of the Institute’s digital map, as demon-blooded figures glowed to life all across the board, blared in alarm through his panic-stricken brain. Worse, the memory of the last conversation he’d had with Magnus (a less than pleasant spat regarding Clave obligations versus his personal life) had begun to assert itself despite his best efforts to stifle the irrational whispering, as perhaps the last they would ever have. 

What felt like eons later, the seemingly-abandoned loft came into sight. Getting to his fabled destination brought Alec Lightwood little relief, however.

He’d bounded upstairs only to find the place in absolute shambles. An unsettling silence had coated the wrecked loft, even though the dust had not even finished settling. His heart was beating to an erratic staccato as he drew his bow, scanning the devastation for any signs of remaining danger. None remained; but the damage had been done, and done very well. The once luxurious throw carpet which now upheld the fractured skeleton of a glass coffee table lay in messy shreds, most of the seating had been overthrown and seared with ashen blast marks, while most of Magnus’ priceless collection of manuscripts and books were strewn unceremoniously across the floor, pages eerily swaying like fallen goose down in the draft from the open door. 

Alec’s ocean-hued gaze swept the room but encountered nothing, though a faint padding sound caused him to whirl towards a large oak cabinet, bow drawn. Its doors hung open, with one dangling uselessly like a broken limb from its golden hinge. Wits sharpened until his nerves danced upon a razor’s edge, Alec took a few tentative steps. He almost loosed the arrow at the movement, but found its pace too nonchalant to warrant an assault. It was a good thing too, because Chairman Meow emerged from the cabinet and hopped down to the floor. The cat then seated himself almost elegantly, him tail curling around him with poised deliberation as he bestowed Alec with the sort of curious ennui only cats are wont to express. Exhaling deeply, Alec lowered the bow and gave the the cat a scratch on the head absently before resuming his search. It didn’t take long. 

A soft meow drew his attention to the omamori laying burnt beneath the cat’s paw, as though the animal had dutifully been waiting for someone to find it. Its charred surface was soiled with bloody fingerprints. 

He felt his heart dislodge his Adam’s apple and struggled to swallow down the wave of panic. He retrieved the charm and shot to his feet.

“Magnus” Alec cried out. “MAGNUS!” 

\--------------------------------------------------

He’d realized that the trembling hadn’t just been due to his abysmal emotional state, and that the burns he’d sustained were in fact laced with demon blood (of course). He wasn’t sure to what end Cillian had accomplished this, but one thing was certain: if Luke and Jace had been any example, these sorts of injuries required more long-winded and involved remedies. As such, Magnus had dragged his increasingly aching frame to the bathroom as quickly as it would allow, knowing full well that he would only get worse, and fast. He had a few minutes at most, to act. The agonizing journey had been punctuated by a string of rather creative curses in a variety of languages old and new, but he eventually reached his washroom: a truly splendid room filled with panoramic views, pale marble and natural woods punctuated with rich fabrics and golden ornamentation; the modernist’s rococo. He’d had no time to appreciate its magnificence as he usually did however, and had hastily turned on the water until a warm torrent was slowly filling the standalone clawfoot tub. He’d then thrown open an ancient oak cupboard which contained hundreds of tiny glass bottles, courtesy of his witchy connections, and expertly tossed a selection of the herbs and elixirs contained therein into his gigantic tub. Not a moment too soon either, as he felt the distinctive lurch of unconsciousness encroaching on the corners of his blurred vision. 

It was barely 15 minutes after he’d staggered into the bubbly, eucalyptus-scented water (he wasn’t a barbarian after all) that he heard his front door burst open for the second time that night, without invitation. 

“What now?” Magnus spat weakly, seriously contemplating with profound irritation whether or not he’d need a refresher course on ward-creation. 

He righted himself with some difficulty from his reclining position in the bath and compelled two swirling orbs into his waiting palms. A good offense was the best option he could hope for at this point, in his lessened condition. He felt better thanks to the concoction he’d made, and had even managed to stifle the flow of blood, but was nowhere near combat ready. 

“MAGNUS! Magnus where are you??” 

The wave of relief at the familiar voice crashed over him with such power that he collapsed backward into the lavish tub with a shaky sigh. He was almost dizzy with gratitude. Or maybe that was the injuries.; he couldn’t quite tell anymore. In any case, he was ecstatic that the only reason someone was in his loft this time was because they were allowed (thanks to a key he’d given to Alec weeks ago). 

“I’m in here, Alexander,” he called out, trying to sound more collected than he felt. 

Seconds later, the tall Shadow Hunter exploded into the bathroom, breathless, red-faced and wild-eyed. He was absolutely frazzled. The warlock had rarely seen such an expression on Alec’s face.

“Oh my god, Magnus, you’re here… you’re safe!” he exclaimed all at once. 

“Of course I am… but… You’ve kind of caught me with my pants down, so to speak...”

The joke fell flat, with Alec beelining for the large tub instead. He gathered the slightly shocked warlock into his arms, getting himself completely soaked in the process (though didn’t quite seem to care) and proceeded with the most all-encompassing hug that ever was. Magnus was admittedly enjoying the gesture, but it left him a touch confused.

“If you’re the cavalry, you’re a bit late, Cupcake,” he remarked quietly as Alec continued his relentless embrace. He could swear he felt Alec heave once or twice as he spoke, as though choking back what one might assume were tough, Shadow Hunter sobs. Feeling Alec’s relieved smile pressing into his neck, he soon returned the hug in full, though movement wasn’t exactly easy at the moment. Alec eventually released him once he seemed satisfied that Magnus was in fact whole, but still cupped his face in his hands. He looked as though he was marvelling at what he was seeing...which amounted to a cut-up face smeared in dripping glittery eyeliner. 

“Not that I’m not glad to see you but, what are you doing here?” Magnus enquired. “I don’t usually entertain guests during bath time…” 

The ensuing response spilled out of the Shadow Hunter frantically, mirroring the chaotic expression still haunting his handsome features. 

“Magnus I thought the worst… I thought… well… We got alerts for multiple attacks on high-level Downworlders all over the city and I thought... You weren’t answering and I-” 

“You were trying to warn me,” Magnus realized, suddenly feeling quite silly for the flight on which he’d sent his phone. He placed his hands over Alec’s in an attempt to calm him. He still looked quite frantic, and the warlock couldn’t help feeling awful about having worried him so. And unavoidably, in true, painfully blunt Alec fashion, he got straight to the (sore) point of the matter. 

“Why didn’t you answer me?” 

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle, as you can see,” Magnus fronted casually, avoiding the question. 

Alec was not appeased. 

“You’re hurt,” he remarked accusingly. He was tall enough that even crouching beside the tub, he could easily trail his hand over some rather angry looking burns which had blossomed over Magnus’ chest. 

“Yes well, I admit the demon blood was a surprise, but nothing I couldn’t manage.”

“Demon blood!?” he exclaimed, “How? Who was it?” 

“Cillian… he’s a rather ineffectual bottom-feeder. I’m actually quite embarrassed that he got me so good.”

“Where is he now?” Alex asked, intense as ever. 

“Clave jail. I told you, easy peasy. Nothing a redecorator can’t fix.” 

“Magnus this is serious,” Alec barked suddenly, his voice cracking. “I thought you were dead. Already half a dozen of our allies were lost tonight. I was losing my mind, I….the blood in your den... I thought….god...” 

His sentence trailed off into the shadow of his bowed head. The subsequent pause was heavy, and even Magnus couldn’t find the words to fill it. He still felt vaguely prickly, but Alec’s heartbreaking distress washed over him in a deluge that was oddly bittersweet. He had never seen Alec, who could be positively rigid at times, come so completely undone. He'd been afraid. Deathly afraid. Yet, Magnus didn’t entirely feel as if he owed him an explanation for his off-air time.

“I’m truly sorry to have worried you,” he began gently, “But you honestly shouldn’t fret over me so much… I’ve been around a great deal longer than most.”

“I know that, but that’s not the point,” he insisted. “I couldn’t reach you for hours…not even fire messages-”

“I’m not some fledgling Vegas magician who needs constant Clave babysitting, Alexander,” Magnus shot dryly, though his glimmering black eyes betrayed a deep hurt. 

The Shadowhunter seemed baffled, as though Magnus was somehow understanding him in a foreign language. Indeed, Magnus’ peevishness was out of character, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It appeared that recent events had worn him too thin and Alec’s probing questions, though out of concern, did nothing more than to stir the proverbial wasps’ nest. As such, it was impossible not to notice the warlock’s irritation, yet Alec persisted, making a clear effort to stay calm. 

“Did I even say that? I just meant that I was worried,” he said, squeezing Magnus’ hands in his. “No one’s invincible, Magnus. Even you can still get hurt.” 

“Well, I’m glad you finally noticed that,” the warlock let slip before he could stop himself. He quietly returned his hands to the water and leaned back, letting his head rest with a deep sigh of instantaneous regret. 

The vapour rising from the tub suddenly felt dense, enveloping them like lukewarm syrup. Magnus found it annoyingly difficult to breathe or to take refuge in the marble sanctuary anymore, while the humid, cloying miasma created by the healing herbs hung thickly between them. His throat burned, but he swallowed it back down. Alec broke the stunted atmosphere first, his voice careful. 

“...What do you mean?”

There was just no palatable way to season the truth, but still, the warlock’s approach had softened. 

“Honestly… I assumed you were just calling me to clean up another Clave mess and…. I guess, after the millionth cancellation this week, I just didn’t feel like being your errand boy tonight.” 

The admission went off like a grenade between them. The warlock struggled to sustain Alec’s uncomfortably heavy gaze, which eventually sparked with grave understanding. Disappointment seeped into every pore of Alec’s face, making it all the more difficult to answer his subsequent question, not to mention that the intensity of the suddenly claustrophobic bathroom seemed to thicken by untold volumes.

“...Errand boy? Is that what you think?… ” His voice was low. Loaded. 

“I don’t know,” Magnus hesitated. “Maybe. Maybe lately.” He spoke quickly, finding himself scrambling. The deep mauve hue of his nails was suddenly fascinating, or so he convinced himself. Anything was better than Alec’s shattered yet unyielding gaze. 

Indeed, Alec’s eyes felt like they were tearing straight through him in the deafening silence, and he began to flounder under their depth. Though he had simply told the truth, he unconsciously sank lower into the bubbles as a chaos of frustratingly unpleasant emotions erupted in his gut. Righteousness. Regret. Relief. Guilt. It definitely wasn’t the sort of cocktail he’d imagined accompanying his recuperative soak. There was an eternity spent in the taut freeze-frame, as they simply considered each other, lost in a guarded, wounded haze. 

“Look Alexander,” he attempted, still more defensively than he’d wanted, “I’m a little too tired to have it out with you right now but I’m fine, and I’m glad you’re fine too. So maybe we can just agree that I know it was petty of me not to answer and I’m sorry about that. But we’ve barely seen each other in the past months, and I suppose I just got upset that every time we speak lately, it’s about the Clave. I mean, you can’t possibly expect me to drop everything every time the Clave demands it.”

He’d not intended for it, but the dam was broken and the torrent of frustration surged from his torn lips. 

“In fact, I don’t even think you should be doing that, but I know how pointless an argument that is. And it’s not that I wouldn’t help if I could ordinarily because believe it or not I like your little fam-jam, but you have to know that I don’t do any of those things, which leave me battered and drained most of the time, for them. I do them for you. And I’m glad to because I stupidly keep hoping that you’ll realize how much I care about you and want to keep you from harm… but you haven’t so much as blinked in my general direction lately and I-”

-You’re right.” 

The acknowledgement was the absolute last thing he’d expected to hear from the reserved (and admittedly thorny) Shadowhunter, and like the most potent of spells, it instantly compelled his tirade into silence. If anything, he'd expected a reprimand. An argument. An explosion. They could both be quite bullheaded as leaders in their own right, and had suffered spats over less, after all. 

“...What?” 

“You’re right,” Alec repeated solemnly, finally looking away then. He sank to the floor with a sigh and leaned his head back against the side of the tub, totally deflated. He ran a hopeless hand through his black tousle of curls, unfurling his long legs across the tiles. The warm water sloshed loudly by contrast to the mist-filled silence of the bathroom as Magnus righted himself once more, bejewelled ears peeled. 

“God, I really do suck at this whole boyfriend thing,” Alec concluded defeatedly. 

Magnus felt his heart give a pleasant shudder at the term, but dared not interrupt. Meanwhile, after what seemed like a few moments of regrouping, Alec turned his head back towards Magnus, just enough to see him. As tall a man as he was, he seemed almost meek with his arms wrapped in themselves, as though he’d collapsed inwards. Even his bassy voice sounded fragile, cracking around its edges like a frozen pond at the dawn of Spring. 

“I never meant for you to feel like an errand boy, Magnus. I am so… so sorry. It’s no excuse, but things at the Clave have been insane. I used every opportunity I could to involve you even just in a business context because otherwise I’d never have seen you at all. But you’re right. We haven’t spent any quality time together lately and… I just… the point is, I just…. I miss you so much. And tonight I got so scared that I’d never get to tell you that again. I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m... sorry I wasn’t around. You feeling taken for granted is the last thing I wanted.”

There was a thick silence before Alec continued. 

“The truth is, there’s nothing I want more than to spend all my time with you. It’s scary how nothing seems important anymore, but us. But I also want to be worthy of someone as amazing as you. I’m doing my best to make changes at the Institute. To make it better for everyone, Downworlders especially. For you. Because the way things are sometimes… the way the Clave is, and how I’m forced to act, the rules I’m supposed to enforce… you deserve so much better. I don’t see how a soldier like me is ever going to be enough for you. I’m not remarkable or even brave. I’ve always stayed inside the lines to please everyone else. All I’ve ever done is follow antiquated and often unfair rules but… you make me want to break them for the better. You make me want to be better. I’m sorry I’m not, yet. But I want to be, even though I know I can’t expect you to wait forever.”

A self-deprecating huff escaped him, while Magnus remained silent, mostly because he was trying to contain the eruption of bittersweet warmth sputtering forth from his dusty warlock heart enough to speak. How in the 12 dimensions could he have doubted Alec? While the heavy apology and ensuing confession hadn’t exactly been entirely necessary, it had functioned as a magical salve on Magnus. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed the acknowledgement of his loneliness...How desperately he’d needed to know that Alec too, had missed him just as much. Still, he felt the sting of every single one of Alec’s self-loathing words burn an unfathomable sadness into his heart. 

He deemed that wrapping his arms around Alec’s shoulders was the only response possible just then, as a tense and deflated silence collapsed upon them. He felt the tall, strained frame relax beneath his grasp, which he took as his cue to kiss the Shadow Hunter’s neck, just about where that admittedly stylish nephilim rune met his jaw line. Alec seemed to dissolve beneath his lips, a human floodgate crumbling under the night’s impossible emotional trials. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Magnus.” he murmured into the fog. 

“Alexander stop,” Magnus ordered him softly, just behind his ear. He held him steadfast against him, as though trying to physically anchor Alec’s awareness to every word. “You’re enough. Just as you are. You’re more precious to me than anything in my life; you make everything seem new and full of possibilities again. You’ve given meaning to my days. And, unless you tell me to go, you’ll never lose me. So stop.”

An almost violent shudder traversed Alec then, which Magnus could only surmise was relief. He felt him shudder through his breath, as though he’d exhaled with helpless laughter. He held him tighter. 

“Anyway, apology accepted, as long as you can also forgive a surly old warlock for having foolishly assumed the worst and acted irresponsibly instead of speaking to you about all this first.” 

“That seems fair,” Alec grinned at last. He sank back into the hug, finally able to relax as though someone had released him from a chokehold. He let his head lean backwards on Magnus’ shoulder and sighed deeply, his body turning to jelly.

The evening’s tumultuous beginnings aside, it had been a long time since the warlock had felt so peaceful. Magnus had always been secretive by virtue of the occasionally dangerous implications of his dealings, but he’d come to feel completely safe around Alec. He hadn’t at all expected it. Warlocks after all, were known to be elusive and fiercely protective, placing their own interests above all else. This strong self-preservation instinct was mostly due to a history filled with persecution and bloodshed of course… but despite his skill and influence, Magnus had been no different from his peers. He’d been intensely mistrustful and had only let a handful of people, mostly Downworlders, into his inner circle. For centuries, his survival had depended on this, and while his eventual link with the Clave became the new normal, he’d never thought in a dozen lifetimes that he’d come to love a Shadowhunter. Yet, it had been an unstoppable force of nature. Their complicity had grown almost effortlessly since their first meeting, without either of them truly noticing the irrepressible pull. Until it was too late of course, and suddenly, the thought of breaking up a wedding seemed trivial in the face of what could be lost, and the thought of drifting to sleep without the scent of Alec’s curiously pine-scented shampoo wafting on his pillows became about as appealing as not breathing at all. 

As such, their reconciliation was a welcome relief. 

For a long while, they merely basked in the misty bathroom, content to hold onto each other with dumb smiles plastered across their faces as they each marveled at their own stupidity. Then, Alec turned, aiming that arresting gaze of his directly at Magnus, who could swear he did that on purpose. 

“I love you.”

It was no coincidence that this Shadow Hunter carried arrows as his weapon of choice. 

“I love you too,” he replied simply, caressing Alec’s face while his heart swam. It had been so long since he’d felt anywhere remotely close to this happy; he barely wanted to blink for fear of the moment somehow evaporating into dust, but it didn’t. They’d exchanged these precious words before, but they were no less powerful each time. Quite the opposite, he thought, as Alec then kissed him sweetly; chastely as he did sometimes. As though he didn’t want to break this delicate new ground either.

Magnus grinned his feline grin against Alec’s soft, half-parted lips.

“For the record, you don’t suck at the whole boyfriend thing,” he said, his fingers trailing down to his beloved’s jaw collarbone gently. 

“Well, good,” Alec concluded, pressing their foreheads together. “So… Is...is that still okay with you, then?”

“What?”

“I know things have been hectic lately and that our relationship will probably never be totally normal but… is it still okay that we have a boyfriend thing?” Alec asked hopefully. 

Magnus chuckled sadly, slightly crushed that Alec had come to such an extreme conclusion.

“Alexander, it was never in question. Though I guess I was kind of waiting for you to wrap your head around it, since you sort of figured yourself out about five minutes ago. I’ve had lifetimes, but I’ll admit...perhaps I wasn’t as patient as I thought I was. I suppose that’s why I thought that maybe our…. distance lately, meant that you were second-guessing the whole thing. I wouldn’t have blamed you. I know I’m… a lot to handle, sometimes.” 

“Never,” was the immediate, unwavering response, sealed by yet another kiss. He’d not had nearly enough of those he thought, but Alec turned back towards the large, fogged-up window to contemplate the night skyline, blurry as it was. 

Magnus could not contain the fond delight coursing through him, and held his boyfriend closer. They sat there for a while yet, Magnus lazily hooked around Alec’s broad shoulders, indulging in the simple, comfortable warmth of each other. 

“I never thought I could feel this way before I met you,” Alec confessed suddenly. “For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me, that I could never have something this good without ruining it or risking everything to have it. It’s amazing but I guess I’m still kind of new at this whole thing, so I’m sorry if you still end up having to iron out a few kinks.” 

Magnus felt warm, the sting of his injuries eons away. He gently laced his fingers through Alec’s dark locks, speaking tenderly as he nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“I like kinks.” He smiled, “And I feel the same about you, Alexander. Despite what you might think, I can honestly say this is new for me too… in the best way. Anyway, maybe we just haven’t had occasion to remind ourselves lately, of how to enjoy it. If anything, maybe we’re both out of practice at the Boyfriend Thing.” 

There was a thoughtful pause, then: 

“Hmm. Well, I just cleared my schedule,” Alec commented matter-of-factly, turning around to face his warlock once more. 

“So let’s practice.”


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A makeout and even more surprise visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Shadowhunters is kinda passé already, but I'd never posted the subsequent chapters. I liked how the story went, so I wanted to share it, even belatedly.

Magnus would have laughed, but the onslaught of soft, urgent lips stifled him. He responded in kind to the much anticipated kisses, but took his time, revelling in the relief of their embrace. His previous anxieties and hell, the entire universe melted away as he thoroughly refreshed his memory of what Alec tasted like. Like the outdoors, somehow. Like fresh air. Like the sea which dwelled in his eyes, and all those other immense things which moved him and the world. And yet, they could not compare. Despite his pulse skyrocketing at these gravitational forces swirling between them, he always exerted some measure of restraint because of Alec’s relative inexperience. Besides, he was happy to grant him the leisure to explore at his own pace. 

Interestingly, that pace tonight was quite impatient, and the Shadowhunter soon seemed intent on “practicing” bathing too, as he had by that point climbed into the tub (unfortunately) fully clothed whilst mercilessly peppering the warlock’s lips, face and neck with desperate, tender kisses. He was all but bent completely over as he straddled the half-submerged warlock, pausing only to relieve himself of his shirt which squelched rather uncouthly against the tile beyond. However, as he leaned in to kiss him again, an unsettling hiss escaped Magnus from the awkward tangle of writhing limbs and lips they had become. 

“Damn it,” he thought. 

Alec retreated only far enough to leave a tiny margin between their panting mouths and to cast a worried glance over his cringing lover. 

“Hey…..Maybe we should practice other Boyfriend Things, like healing your injuries and making you some tea and giving you a back rub instead?”

“No, no, no no no… no no no.” Magnus insisted impatiently, running his hands over Alec’s thighs, which he endeavoured to tear from their sad, soggy denim prison. 

Before he could attempt it however, Alec made a point of poking him (very) lightly in the rib, which elicited another deep grimace from Magnus. The subsequent glare of defiance the warlock shot back, paired with a rather suggestive rove of his splayed fingers against his restrictive pants almost unravelled Alec’s resolve to slow down, but the Shadowhunter caught himself. Barely.

“That’s… not fair,” he groaned helplessly, “I’m just trying to help.” 

“Then help me take these off, ” he suggested impishly.

“Magnus,” Alec scolded softly, though real concern tainted his amused grin. 

“Alexander, I’m fine.” 

“Well, I know that, but you’re also hurt.” 

“Ha ha, très drôle. Do you use that line on everyone? Now where were we?” 

Alec, ever the dutiful Lightwood, smiled placatingly and hauled himself from the tub, apparently concluding that the only solution was to remove himself from the temptation. Magnus sighed exasperatedly and fell back with an irritated splash.

“Must you be so …”

“Caring? Attentive? Considerate?” A coy smile was painted on Alec’s lips as he shucked off his dripping pants and wrapped himself in one of Magnus’ more subtle bathrobes. 

“Responsible,” Magnus whined, already missing Alec’s more intimate ministrations. He drummed his fingers against the tub in mock annoyance. “I mean, how do you expect me to be sensible when you plunge into my bath half-naked?” ...It was a fair question. “Surely it’s rude to reject a nice gift like that.” 

“Come on,” Alec chuckled gently with blazing cheeks, beckoning him out of the tub with one of the more lavishly fluffy robes. 

With a sigh Magnus complied, though he made no effort whatsoever to hide what the bubbles could not. He stood and indulgently stretched out his aching limbs, flaring his fingers thoughtfully, almost like someone testing out a new skin. He felt slightly better physically, but his magical essence had taken a considerable hit. He doubted he could have lit a candle just then, and his consciousness was accordingly leaden. 

As though sensing this, Alec lent him an arm which he gratefully took. 

“You don’t look so good Magnus,” the Shadowhunter observed uneasily as he helped him out of the tub. 

“I highly resent and contest that comment,” he replied a bit feebly. He didn’t really have the energy for jokes, but he refused to admit to himself or Alec, how much the encounter had drained him. Instead, he tried not to feel every so slightly self-conscious when Alec’s eyes scanned the widespread and alarmingly scarlet burns festooning his chest and arms like wine stains. 

“By the Angel…” Alec whispered of this new upright and undisturbed view. “I wish I could use an iratze…” His fingers brushed lightly over the damaged skin as he spoke worriedly about the healing rune, which could only be applied to Nephilim. 

“Don’t worry,” replied Magnus softly, a fond expression washing over him. It was hard to him to conceal his appreciation of Alec’s genuine concern and gentle touches, and he delighted in the fact that he didn’t have to. He was safe here with Alec; it was alright to be vulnerable. “I’ll be fine in a few days.” 

With that, Alec finally went about wrapping the slightly stumbling warlock in the plush bathrobe, dutifully pointing his gaze northwards. Lightwoods were fierce warriors, but also intensely proper after all. Magnus couldn't help but grin at the prude display, when just a few moments ago Alec had practically drowned him in his ardor. 

“Why so shy? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before…” Magnus taunted, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing I won’t see again either, I promise” was the snappy reply, despite flushed cheeks. 

Magnus seemed impressed, and resignedly tied the fuzzy belt around his waist while Alec was seemingly trying to manage his blush. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Magnus smirked. 

“Please do,” Alec agreed. “But for now, stop distracting me and let me take care of you, okay? Please? For once?” 

Alec emphasized the point by gently drying off Magnus’ hair with another impossibly poofy towel. He was one of the rare few who had ever been allowed to behold Magnus’ signature gravity-defying updo in such disarray. Alec smiled at the wet, longish black and violet locks hanging lazily to one side and gently coaxed them into place until they were neatly tucked behind a copiously pierced ear. 

“You’re cute,” the Shadowhunter mumbled with a timid smirk, after having pulled the bath robe’s hood over his boyfriend’s head. 

“Cute?” Magnus questioned incredulously. “You do know I’m 800 years old, right?” 

“You don’t look a day over 250,” Alec grinned down at him from his considerably taller vantagepoint. “And yeah, you’re cute.” 

The warlock looked as though he’d wanted to protest, but thought better of it, since Alec had allowed his grasp linger on the sides of Magnus’ face for a few moments. He gently thumbed away the remnants of smudged eyeliner, while that profound, heavily-lashed gaze of his locked on. Magnus wasn’t so sure sometimes, that Alec didn’t have any magical powers, because he was utterly entranced, his protests having died on his tongue. Their eyes held for a few moments, and Alec kissed him reverently.

“I hope you realize I’m not used to being coddled like this,” Magnus muttered against his lips, trying to ignore how he, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, had been reduced to a quivering pile of mush. Or perhaps a drowned cat, by the looks of him. 

“That’s too bad,” Alec mumbled warmly, collecting him into his long, sinewy arms, “I’m gonna coddle the hell out of you.” 

“I could magic you into stopping…” 

“Is ‘magicking’ the official warlock term for what you do?” he chuckled.

“I’m just saying,” Magnus argued with a smirk as he bobbed in Alec’s arms, “it was a horrible pickup line.” 

“I have better ones,” Alec countered.

“...Oh really?”

“How about… ‘Wanna be my Magnus Bae?’”. He could barely keep a straight face as his scarred eyebrow rose to accent the tacky flirtation. 

“That’s….surprisingly good,” Magnus laughed in cringing delight, “but I might have to change my name. Or start a hashtag, I can’t decide which.” 

“First thing I thought when we first met, though. I’ve been waiting a long time to use it.” the Shadowhunter confessed, as they carefully picked through the shattered living room. 

“I thought far worse when I met you,” Magnus grinned, while Alec just stared questions at him. 

“Your last name is Light Wood for gods’ sake. Too easy.” 

“Yeah, and Jace beat you to it about 10 years ago anyway,” he sighed, a dark look ghosting across his features. 

“Yes, I certainly did,” came a voice from the doorway.


	3. Clave Clown Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Debrief and an Offer of Help

Silence fell on the quartet as Magnus collected himself, seemingly wracked with memories of unseen horrors as well as the weight of this new, frankly terrifying prospect. As adept a warlock as he was, he couldn’t quite stomach the idea of being personally singled-out by the most reviled creature in the Downworld, mostly because if Valentine succeeded, Magnus could be used to exert an unparalleled level of destruction on the Clave, the Downworld, the Mundane world, and on his friends. If Dot had been able to throw Clary, who had for all intents and purposes been her little sister for over a decade, into a Portal to Valentine and dose her with spells without even the slightest hesitation, Magnus shuddered to think of what Valentine could do with High Warlock powers at his beck and call. It could be catastrophic. After a few tense moments, Clary approached him and, wearing an earnest expression of renewed fiery determination, took hold of his free hand.

“We’ll figure this out, Magnus,” she declared, “Whatever you need, we’ll help. Right Jace?”

While it was clear in the blond Shadowhunter’s electrified gaze that he’d been stricken dumb with adoration by Clary’s confident declaration, he feigned his regular aloofness. Alec grinned between pursed lips, apparently delighted that it was his smooth parabatai who was thrown off-kilter for once. 

“Yeah yeah, sure sure. Of course.” Jace agreed, swallowing hard. “Whatever you need, Magnus. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done for us, and for Alec.” 

“You’re our friend. We won’t let anything happen to you,” Clary insisted with ferociously genuine brightness. Magnus believed her, and understood why Jace looked so taken when she spoke like that. She was a veritable beacon of hope and determination, this one. Just like her mother.

“Isn’t this sweet,” Magnus teased, though in truth, he was touched by the whole scene. Perhaps he hadn’t been as isolated as he thought. Perhaps he did have friends at the Clave, and perhaps he wasn’t just their convenient bag of tricks. Just as Jace rolled his light eyes in response, he added: “....Thank you. I suppose sticking together wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I certainly don’t want to end up another weapon in Valentine’s arsenal. And besides, it might not just be me he’s after. We must be careful.” 

Clary released his hand with a determined smile.

“Well then, I’m staying here,” Alec announced suddenly, then turning to Jace. “You and Izzy can run operations at the Institute for a little while, until we’ve got this figured out.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Alexander. I don’t want you to get in trouble with the big Clave cheeses. I’m not exactly their darling at the moment anyway...” Magnus protested half-heartedly. Jace seemed itchy to argue the point as well, but held his silver tongue for a change (which obviously had nothing to do with the blazing glare of warning Clary was firing at him). 

“I don’t care,” declared Alec, “Besides, this is serious. If you’re on Valentine’s list, you should have extra protection. It’s just the smart thing to do.” 

“Oh yeah,” Jace sneered, crossing his arms, “no ulterior motives there whatsoever….” 

“I have tons of ulterior motives, actually,” Alec acquiesced without missing a beat. “...Would you leave Clary if she were being targeted?” 

The awkwardness in the room spiked through the stratosphere. 

Clary’s face turned a shade closer to that of her hair, and a deep clench creased Jace’s jaw. 

He glowered, but also shook his head. 

“Of course not,” he hissed. 

Alec had a gift for getting to the heart of things, after all. He also had a point. 

Clary interrupted the macho debate however, despite the flush in her cheeks. 

“I think Clary can take care of herself,” she asserted, “and if I’ve understood anything in this world since I’ve been here, it’s that I think that all of us are pretty much always being targeted in one way or another. But given that Magnus has been injured, it’s probably not a bad idea to assign someone here until he’s better. I think the Clave would see it that way too. Protection of assets and all that.” She accented the title with air quotes. 

Alec’s expression had brightened to the point where he looked almost frighteningly fond of Clary in that moment. Meanwhile, Jace seemed far more resigned when he spoke next.

“I just meant that we’re stretched a bit thin… But I guess a few days wouldn’t hurt. I’ll keep Maryse off your back about this little ‘business trip’ as long as we can reach you day and night,” he added pointedly. 

“We can live-stream if you’d like,” Magnus quipped, “You might even learn a little something.” 

Clary laughed while Jace shrank a bit further, but smiled. “Don’t involve me in your fantasies, Magnus.” The warlock winked saucily in response

“Ok, ok,” Alec interrupted, almost purple at this point. “Are we done here? We’re agreed then?”

Jace nodded. 

“Great. We can stay and help with the clean up,” Clary mentioned, her eyes roving the impressive destruction. 

“If you insist,” Magnus chirped, a suddenly mischievous air pulling at his features. 

“You just had to volunteer,” Jace grumbled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A curious cleanup spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just messing around with all the angsty tangled feelings with this lot...

While Clary had merely intended to be helpful in her innocent suggestion, and while she was certainly less of a greenhorn that she had been mere weeks ago, her knowledge of magical verbal contracts was still sorely incomplete. As such, she wasn’t exactly aware of what she’d just carelessly offered the warlock in guise of a cleanup, and Jace had been too slow to stop her. 

“What…. What’s going on?” Clary asked. “What do you mean volunteer? I just offered to help clean up!” 

“And how do you think warlocks clean up?” he challenged, “with a broom?”

Magnus ignored Jace’s gripes and stretched his hands out towards the two. They looked at him hesitantly, but he merely nodded his head insistently before they each took hold. Magnus grinned broadly while Clary stared questions at them both. 

“You’ll see,” said Jace, “but remember, this is your fault. Warlocks are like lawyers with magical powers, and you just gave him carte blanche...” 

“Oh relax, this won’t hurt a bit” huffed Magnus, before directing his attention to his other half. “Alec, please touch me somewhere; I’m out of hands.” 

“Romantic,” Jace muttered. 

Six eyes rolled skywards in unison, but Alex merely sighed and planted himself in front of the warlock, before placing a palm against his chest, through the loosened collar of the bathrobe. Magnus smiled and with a single blink, his eyes reverted to their golden feline version. Alec seemed enthralled, surveying the warlock’s face carefully as he then closed his eyes and focused. Moments later, a sudden surge of warmth spread over them, cementing them all to their contact points on Magnus, as though the sunrise itself was drawing them to his skin. Sharp intakes of breath resounded across the room as a faint blue glow encapsulated the four. Breathing deeply himself, Magnus seemed to straighten up slowly, not unlike a wilted plant granted rain after a long drought. Even the plethora of small cuts and scrapes disrupting his sharp features began to fade.

“Whoa,” Clary gasped, entranced by the sudden flow of energy connecting them. 

“Angel juice is potent,” the warlock replied with renewed gusto, though his voice constricted a little at the influx of power.

“I really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” said Jace, his voice cracking ever so slightly. 

“Don’t resist the pull,” Magnus warned, “it’ll just make the inevitable crash harder on you. Just embrace the flow.” 

Clary had no idea what he was talking about, especially since he suddenly sounded like some surf-hippie guru. Embrace the flow? The hand where she held Magnus just felt vaguely warm, but that was all. 

“...Fine,” Jace acquiesced, his voice hitching in strange, but unmistakably sensual manner this time. 

Clary’s gaze hurled itself at him then, half incredulous and half riveted. 

Indeed, having fully given into the process, Jace looked like he was undergoing either the best high, or the best sex he’d ever experienced. While he stayed stubbornly silent, his entire body was twisting with deep spasms that curiously did not look painful in the least. Clary’s stare was helplessly glued to him as his golden head canted back ever so slightly, his eyes half lidded, as though he were in the throes of some deeply private moment she found herself desperate to be privy to. She also remained conspicuously silent, snapping her gaze away and swallowing hard. Watching him was not an allowable option anymore, especially since the buzzing warmth had spread to every inch of her body like infectious sunlight. She fought to wrangle her reactions inwards because the truth was, she felt like she would explode with an exuberant joy that had seemingly sprouted from nowhere. Or rather, from a place she could not acknowledge given certain recently discovered family ties. Fortunately, she could also feel the others, and her sudden and unbidden connection to Alec and Magnus was not altogether unpleasant either. 

The link created by Magnus’ blue fire was fiercely personal, tethering them together in a magical electrical circuit from which none wished to disengage. The sensation was unlike anything Clary had ever encountered in the Mundane or Shadowhunter world, and uniquely powerful. She fleetingly wondered if this was what addicts experienced… or Jedis. Surely this was the closest thing to the Force she’d ever get to touch. She could hear all of their hearts whispering in kinship, almost physically feel the strength of all their different bonds moving through her veins, thick and warm like syrup. She saw flashes of Alec and Jace at their parabatai ceremony. Felt the violent, blissful shudder of Alec’s heart when he had first kissed Magnus. Tasted the relief deep in Magnus’ soul when Alec had come back from his rune coma. And Jace… though she momentarily tried to avoid the prying, devastating hunger surrounding his image, it was useless. He washed over her like the sea finally come to quench her heart’s deepest thirst. She gasped shakily, trying desperately to navigate through the storm of emotion. 

“Here,” Alec offered softly, placing a second hand over Magnus’ heart. “Spare them a little, they need to get back to the Institute.” 

“Don’t worry,” Magnus reassured gently, his bright yellow eyes gleaming blissfully. “I don’t need much more. They won’t be affected for long.” 

As promised, a few seconds later Magnus released them. Clary and Jace stumbled almost simultaneously as the joyous flow of energy was abruptly disrupted. They stared at each other in a disgraceful fit of panting, and Magnus couldn’t help but smirk with a raised brow. The energy transfer experience could be intense for some, depending on the sort of connection his “batteries” shared. Even Alec was blushing and steadying himself on a nearby wall, though he’d done this a few times before. 

“Well, that was rousing. Thank you. I feel much better now.” 

“I’m so glad,” Jace mumbled sarcastically, his head hanging between his thighs as he braced his shaking hands on his knees. He looked like he was about to vomit, which was a stark contrast to the previously orgasmic state he’d appeared to be in mere seconds prior.

Ignoring that, Magnus vigorously spun on his heels and faced the broken living room. Seconds later, he released a pulse of blue energy throughout his loft with a few swift flicks of his wrists. Incredibly, all the pieces of broken furniture began to reassemble themselves on cue from crumbs and dust. 

“I DO have insurance after all,” he explained to as astonished looking Clary, “I just needed the magical energy to activate the policy.” 

“What did you do to us?” she asked breathily, dodging a book which flew past her head to its spot on the shelf. 

“Connected and equalized our energy flows so that I could borrow a bit of your Nephilim energy,” he explained. “Think of it as borrowing water from your glass. I took ‘water’ from each of your glasses to help refill my own,” he said, accenting his explanation with air quotes, “but no one gets more or less in the process. It’s merely a redistribution of resources. If all of us had been battle-worn, it wouldn’t have been much use. Anyway, it’s what I did to keep Alec from succumbing to his parabatai bond break that time. Thanks, by the way.” 

Her curiosity was not sated. 

“But I saw… I felt…” 

“Best not to overanalyze,” Magnus advised thoughtfully. “The connection can sometimes channel raw, irrational emotion and thought. Dreams, even. Open floodgates that are overwhelming unless you’re 100% comfortable with yourself...” 

There was a loaded pause, but mercifully, Clary changed the subject for the sake of those who were not 100% comfortable with themselves, like her, for one. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Clary breathed, righting herself from the kneeling position she’d assumed. “But at least we DID help you clean up.” 

“If you call being a battery helping…” Jace countered, though he didn’t look at her. His flushed cheeks were beginning to fade and his breathing had returned to normal. 

“Oh don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” Magnus said cheerfully, “We were all connected as one for a moment. It’s all very spiritual, all very kumbaya. Besides, you’ll be fine in a few minutes. I on the other hand, am already weakening because of this reconstructive spell and the wards I’ve just recast. This was a great band-aid, don’t get me wrong, but It’ll take more time for me to recover entirely.” 

“I’ll help,” Alec suggested immediately. He had already had one large hand placed on Magnus’ shoulder. 

“Obviously...” Jace grinned. “I guess we’ll be on our way then. Just remember to keep in touch. But lie low, and try not to get into any trouble.” 

Alec nodded. 

Jace was back to business as usual, but Magnus could tell that he’d been ruffled by the experience. It wasn’t surprising, given the implications looming over these overdramatic angel-children. Being so intimately connected to one another could reveal emotions long buried even in the most stoic of people, and for this crowd, angst brewed just beneath the surface. 

Clary seemed only to break from her post-magic stupor when Jace lightly touched her elbow to guide her towards the door. He dutifully avoided her gaze. 

“C’mon,” he said in a soothing tone, “we’ll get something to eat on the way back; it’ll help us recover faster.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed vaguely, then turning back to Magnus and Alec one last time. “Call if you need anything. Be safe.” 

With that, the door clunked shut behind them.


	5. Taking Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can lead a warlock to self-care, but you can't make him purr. 
> 
> Or maybe Alec can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are obviously a lot of opportunities to write smut with these two, but tempting as it is, I'm a giant suck who sometimes prefers it cheesy and innocent, please forgive me :D That said, you can imply as much as you like.

“Well, that was awkward,” Magnus commented in the wake of Morgenstern’s departure. 

He plucked one remaining reconstructed trinket from the floor between his painted fingers and placed it carefully on the windowsill, then swept his tired gaze over his freshly remade loft. It was still a mess of antiques and fabrics of course, but it was a deliberate, orderly chaos he recognized rather than an aggressive undoing of his precious home. He still felt a bit woozy from all the borrowed magic he’d expended, and sat down on his velvety settee, which he patted gratefully. Alec joined joined him, and laced a long arm around his fuzz-wrapped frame. Magnus eagerly sank into him with a languorous sigh, leaning his head on Alec’s waiting shoulder. 

“Yeah. I don’t envy their position,” Alec commented, a trace of sadness tainting his voice. “That was… I really didn’t know it was that bad. I don’t know how they live with that sort of pain every day. I could feel the longing in my bones, Magnus.”

“Like I said, it’s best not to read too much into the transfer,” Magnus repeated gently, “Because so many different emotions and thoughts get tossed around… but I do feel sorry for those kids. I felt it too.” 

“Yeah,” Alec said somberly. He was no stranger to carrying the burden of forbidden feelings. “I suppose we should be grateful that we’re allowed to love each other, now. It could be a lot worse.” 

Magnus squeezed his hand, while Alec tightened his grasp around the warlock’s shoulders. 

“Are you worried about him?” he asked, acutely aware of how deep Alec’s bond to Jace was.

“I don’t know yet. Sort of.” he hesitated a moment, then clarified: “I’m always worried about him. Kind of my job. But I know he’ll handle it. It’s just that as long as I’ve known him, Jace has never really loved anyone.. Well, not like that. And the one person he does, well…suffice it to say he can’t.”

“It’s all very Greek tragedy, I admit,” Magnus sighed knowingly. 

“I’m not sure how someone gets over something like that,” Alec mused. 

“Time. It’s a tired cliché, but as someone who’s had more time than most, I can confirm that time does heal most wounds. Even ones you think you could never recover from...” he added pensively. 

Alec wove his fingers through Magnus’ un-coiffed hair and kissed his head, dispelling whatever malaise could have seeped between them from the warlock’s past. 

“More coddling, I see,” Magnus chuckled, changing the subject. “I could get used to it.” 

“Are you sure?” Alec asked in a soft but serious tone, “You seem to comment on it every time I’m affectionate with you.” He dulled the observant remark with more head scratches, but again, he’d hit the bullseye. He was quite the archer, after all. “Do you not like it?” 

“Of COURSE I like it,” Magnus emphasized, “But I guess I’m not used to it. I usually take care of others. It’s kind of what warlocks do. For a modest fee of course, but... You know what I mean.” 

Alec said nothing, but instead kicked off his sopping boots which he’d still been wearing for some horrid reason and peeled off his socks. He then swung his impossibly long legs onto the divan and gently drew Magnus onto his chest as he stretched out, exhaling deeply. The warlock did not protest, resting his head just beneath Alec’s chin while the Shadowhunter’s arms locked around him. 

“Ah well, you should try letting someone take care of you sometime. You might actually like it,” Alec grinned a bit drowsily, massaging small circles at the nape of Magnus’ neck. 

“Well you do make a compelling argument,” the warlock acknowledged. “But who could that someone be?” 

“...I dunno, but hey, I’m cheap” Alec chimed, his thumb now working over the veritable forest of knots and tangles rippling beneath Magnus’ solid shoulders. “And I just became a lot more available.” 

“I do like a good bargain,” Magnus grinned. Meanwhile, Alec reached into and under the robe’s loose collar with both hands to better reach his shoulder blades and spine, which he kneaded attentively. 

“Oh gods…” Magnus unabashedly groaned in sheer delight, as he then allowed himself to entirely bury his face into Alec’s neck, arms falling slack over the divan’s edge, while those nimble fingers worked him over. A deep sigh escaped him as he relished the rub, feeling himself almost literally melt atop the Shadowhunter’s sturdy chest like a smattering of sparkly butter on bread. He could barely remember the last time he’d gotten a massage from anyone (though he’d enthusiastically given plenty in his day), much less someone he adored half as much as Alec.

He muttered: “Hey, you’re pretty good at this boyfriend thing after all, are you sure you haven’t dated anyone before?”

Alec chuckled. “Pretty sure. I don’t think it counts when you’re five, right?”

Magnus exhaled a laugh before softly brushing his lips against Alec’s steady pulse. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Don’t thank me,” Alec replied, his hands relaxing. They drew large, languid circles across Magnus’ warm skin now. He yawned. “I wish I could always be here with you.” 

“You are,” Magnus smiled. He felt Alec’s embrace tighten in response. 

As much as he resented it, his eyes were beginning to feel heavy. He’d used up more magic than he had in weeks, and now that the adrenaline had been traded for warm relaxation, he stood little chance of resisting sleep’s sweet allure. Alec had already succumbed, his chest rising and falling as steadily as the tides. 

And so he followed him.


	6. Push and Pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small vignette of Jace and Clary as they struggle with the lingering effects of Magnus' spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I will continue with this story, but I nevertheless wanted to write a small (and okay, super angsty) vignette of Jace and Clary, before the big revelation regarding their lack (thank goodness) of family ties. While I found it a bit disturbing, their struggle was fascinating to me, especially in the books.

“Just get the chicken,” he suggested, his voice betraying a shred of annoyance.

Clary’s eyes, which stung dryly with fatigue, narrowed from across the table. 

“It was served raw last time,” she justified matter-of-factly, scouring the offerings. 

The Morgensterns sat in a quiet booth of a dimly-lit diner without windows. One glance at its patrons which consisted of vampires, faeries and some vaguely human-but-not-quite-right sort of figures quickly revealed why raw chicken was one of the least bizarre offerings on the menu, which included poached rat burgers, bloodworm smoothies and other “specialties”. 

She pushed the crusty menu aside, giving up.

“You should eat  _ something _ ,” Jace insisted tersely. “Besides, raw chicken is considered a delicacy to some…” 

“I’m not hungry,” she sighed, absently rubbing her temples. 

Jace watched her from behind his menu, his pale eyes glinting with concern which was masquerading as detached irritation. He remained quiet however, until the waitress arrived. Her body was covered in lustrous turquoise scales, while series of pink gills sliced down the sides of her neck at even intervals. Her waist-long hair was a hot fuschia pulled back into a high ponytail, which only accented the striking shade of her large, fully black eyes. Clary couldn’t tell where she was looking, but thankfully, the waitress addressed Jace in haunting, echoing sounds. It was like listening to the unholy lovechild of whale-song and 1980’s synth pop. 

“Hey, two orders of sweet potato fries, please,” he said casually. The banality of his order was a mind-bogglingly offensive contrast to the majestuous serenade he was being treated to. Clary had no idea what the creature was saying, but it sounded like the voice of angels… or what she assumed they sounded like, anyway. It wasn’t like Raziel had ever shown up for Clave choir practice.

“Clary!” Jace half-shouted, snapping her back to reality. 

_ “What?!”  _

“She’s asking what you want. In fact, she’s asked you three times now.” 

“I thought you got sweet potato fries….”

“And you assumed I was sharing?” he sniffed, firing a sleek grin at the server.  

The server unleashed a sequence of clicking sounds which uncannily resembled cetacean laughter, if there was such a thing. Or psychotic dolphins. Clary glowered. 

“Nothing, thanks.” 

The waitress shrugged and glided away as gracefully as any sea creature she’d ever seen sliding effortlessly through the surf, though she could have sworn she’d dropped a wink at Jace before doing so. It seemed there were simply no barriers to Jace’s appeal, regardless of language or species. She figured she should have been used to it by now. She wasn’t. 

“Old flame?” she taunted wearily. 

“No,” he confirmed, “but maybe a new one. Who knows?” 

Clary’s eyes rolled so hard her sockets almost hurt. Ignoring the traitorous pinch in her heart, she changed her focus.

“What was she anyway? I’ve never seen ….  _ Whatever _ she was.” 

“Could have been a _ he, _ actually. Sea-nymphs are generally intersexed. They can switch at will, or be both. This one seemed to have a penchant for hips, though….” he observed appreciatively. 

Clary wanted to be intrigued, but she was too tired. It wasn’t necessarily that the hour was pushing 1AM (though that didn’t help), but she suspected that her depleted state was mostly due to Magnus’ water glass clusterfuck of an energy spell. She really didn’t want to dwell on it just then however, and dismissed the discomforting thought. She’d seen and felt impressions from  _ her brother _ that were far too much to process. She opted for an absent nod instead, punctuated with a disinterested “hmm” sound. Jace seemed unimpressed. He leaned forward across the table and aimed his traffic-stopping stare on her. She could never get over how sometimes his mismatched eyes seemed almost golden in the light, and other times, reflected blue-greens. It was like his gaze contained underwater sunlight. Maybe he and the sea-nymph weren’t such a stretch after all. She felt herself shrink ever so slightly, but held his infuriating eyes nonetheless, waiting for him to make his point. 

The arrival of steaming hot sweet potato fries clanking down on the table between them was a welcome reprieve. 

“...What?” she finally snapped. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“...Are you alright?” he asked bluntly. All pretense of his smooth sarcasm had vanished from his concerned features, which made him all the more maddening. “You look pale. And you’re being a pain. More than usual, I mean.” 

If there was any place where growling was appropriate, a Downworld Diner was it, but she restrained herself nonetheless. 

“Maybe it’s the company. I’m fine,” she lied. She refused to be the newbie Shadowhunter that couldn’t handle herself. She’d been there and done that for far too long now, and so vigorously ignored how the edges of her vision blurred, or how the room seemed to spin at the merest movement of her head. She braced it with a hand, feigning nonchalance. 

“Clary, Magnus’ spells can hit you hard if you’re not used to them,” Jace pointed out helpfully, speaking through a thick fog. His voice sounded as though it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. “His High Warlockiness doesn’t always jive well with our holy blood, you know?” 

“Ok. Maybe,” she confided after a few moments, “I’m feeling a little woozy. But I’ll be okay. Magnus said this would happen.” Her own words were starting to take on remixed tones of Charlie Brown's teacher.

“Can we get this to go?” Jace called out to the counter. He shot a spectacularly encouraging grin at the server for good measure.

“Jace,” she argued weakly, “It’s fine.” 

She saw were those vexing eyes widening in surprise, then surge towards her, while his mouth made sounds she could not decipher. 

Then she saw and heard nothing at all. 

\-------------------------------------

 

Her eyes sluggishly fluttered open at last, though each lash felt like it was tied to an anchor.  An anchor which dragged sandpaper raw across her retinas. 

“She’s coming out of it now,” a familiar voice said. She heard a muffled, tinny response. Its tone was particularly grating, like those times when Simon would put his iphone into an empty glass to amplify his demo tracks for her to listen to. It took a considerable amount of effort to focus, but when she raised her cotton-filled head, it was just as soon pushed back onto the pillow. She grunted in fruitless rebellion.  

“Ok, thanks Magnus. I’ll do that. See you later.” 

She heard a faint click and her guest shuffled, keeping a resolute hand on her forehead. 

“You’re still feverish Clary,” said Jace dutifully. “Stay down.” 

_ Jace.  _

Though she cursed herself for it, her heart launched itself against her ribcage like a frenzied beast. She realized that this was her bedside he was sitting at, in her room at the Institute. It was not yet light out, and Jace’s face sagged with the telltale dark markings of fatigue. He still looked infuriatingly good, unlike the sweaty mess she suspected she looked like. A familiar sense of hyper-self-consciousness, certainly not the kind one would experience with siblings, overcame her. She swallowed roughly.  

“What happened?” she croaked, feeling as though someone had given her vocal chords a once-over with a cheese grater.  “...What about the fries?” 

Jace erupted in rare laughter. It was a lovely, hopeful sound. She wished he’d do it more often, but thought better of it. That would make things even harder. 

“I ate them all, since you were napping… Anyway, I just spoke to Magnus and he said you pretty much have the equivalent of a magic hangover. You should be fine after some rest.” 

“Ugh… so not fair…..” she complained, her brain still full of cobwebs. She wondered bitterly why Jace always had to be present during her most disgraceful moments. “Why… do you have to be here?” 

She hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but eloquence was not her friend just then. Jace’s either, apparently, for once. He stiffened on the chair and cleared his throat, as though stalling for an appropriately brotherly answer to occur to him. It didn’t. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, obviously,” he resolved. "You're _welcome_ by the way."

Clary made a questioning sort of grunting noise she would later agonize over in embarrassment. 

“I had to haul your unconscious ass all the way back here. It’s not exactly easy to glamour a sack of potatoes strung over my shoulder. It was lucky not many people were out.” 

It seemed the universe had an endless supply of humiliation fodder, and she was first in line. She sighed, finally deciding she too exhausted to care anymore.

“Sorry.” 

He shifted closer to her, enough that she could make out the flecks of gold lining his dark turquoise-looking irises; smell his warm, earthy scent. She felt extra creepy, but couldn’t help it. It took everything not to marvel at him when he was this close, and she was so, so tired. 

“You should have told me you were feeling so bad, we could have come straight back here and gotten you a remedy,” he pointed out, his voice absurdly soft. It washed over her like a warm tide. 

She huffed and turned onto her side in response, which she’d discovered was the only way she could tear herself from his eyes. 

“Yeah, so I could be the weak link again…” she muttered darkly. 

“Well, you ended up being it anyway. Passing out because you’re too stubborn to admit when you need help isn’t exactly a mark of badassery, Clary.”

She stayed quiet through his chastising, trying to swallow down her shame and disappointment. He was right of course, which made everything worse. She suddenly wished he was just go away, and stop being privy to all her mistakes. 

“Look, I just meant that I was worried,” he went on. “We’re supposed to be a team now. You’re one of us, and we all have to rely on each other.” He raked a hand through his blond locks, which had tumbled over his eyes, and sighed. “God, I sound like Alec… but it’s true. You’ve been there for me when I needed it. But I can’t look out for you if you don’t let me; if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” 

His voice was so infuriatingly tender. She barely heard his words and instead watched his soft lips curve into his usual crooked smile as he spoke, hypnotized. Clary found herself praying for the snarky, pig-headed version of Jace to return… the one whose sarcasm and near-constant jabs were enough to punch out some distance between them. This Jace, unguarded and kind, was impossible to dismiss, and provoked a hungry, inescapable longing in her bones. This warmth now seeping from him, which he only showed to a select few like Alec and Izzy, was too heartbreaking. She willed herself to ignore how his fingers busied themselves with clearing stray strands of her hair from her damp face while he spoke. How they lingered on her cheeks, sending tendrils of pure lightning through every nerve ending in her body, just like at the loft. She’d seen so much of what hid just beneath the thin, rickety surface of sanity, then. She’d seen the confirmation that he felt exactly how she felt, and to a degree that was even less controllable. She’d seen his desire, his love, his grief. His suffering. It was all too much. 

“Stop, Jace,” she pleaded suddenly, her voice constricted into a whisper. “Please.” 

He froze, his features knitted in confusion and guilt. Tears stung the back of Clary’s eyes, but she forced them back as she watched him pull away. She felt like she was being torn in half. 

“Sorry.” 

He was a million miles away, now. An iceberg floating away from her. 

“Jace…” 

“I’ll check back on you later, okay?” He rose from the chair and turned to leave. He gave her a curt smile. 

It was too cruel. She may have discovered her Nephilim heritage recently, but her emotions were painfully human, still. She couldn’t bear the pain of this upside-down world anymore. Perhaps it confirmed her weakness tenfold, but she’d felt herself break the second he’d gotten up. 

While her feverish brain howled unheeded warnings, she reached for him. 

The tug on his light grey sleeve was enough to cause him to stumble backwards. If he hadn’t been so tired himself, he might have been able to prevent it, but as it was, Jace half-tripped onto the small bed, landing in a sitting position on its edge with a befuddled expression on his face. He’d barely had time to turn his startled features towards Clary before she had him wrapped in her arms. 

He too, was helpless. 

“Clary….” 

“I know,” she acknowledged quietly. Her face was tucked into the warm knits of the loose sweater he wore.  “I  _ know _ .” 

Jace sat very, very still, as though teetering on the edge of a crater.

“I’m sorry…” Clary confessed bitterly, though her words were still disjointed by fever and fatigue. “It’s just… back at the loft, I saw so many things… felt you in my chest… in my head…” As incoherent as it seemed, Jace nodded in bitter understanding. 

“I’m weak…” she concluded miserably, heart and brain lurching in tandem.  

There was a long silence. 

“So am I,” said Jace finally. His voice was almost inaudible despite how he breathed long, deep breaths. 

She felt tremors traverse his chest as he did so, and she realized with remorse that he also was crumbling as they sat there, holding each other. She’s done this to him, and could barely muster the conviction to feel sorry.

Because eventually, he did allow his arms to encircle her and bring her closer to him, until they were molded to each other as one in the shadows. He held her like his life depended on it, like she would slip away into the night if he even slightly loosened his grasp. He buried his face into her mussed red hair and sighed almost violently, his solid frame shaking from the effort of restraining the torrent of emotions roiling under his skin. 

“I felt it too, Clary. I  _ always _ …. ” 

“I don’t know how to love you like a brother,” she murmured suddenly, self-loathing desperation suffusing every syllable. “I don’t know if I can.” 

That was when she felt him come apart beneath her grasp, his muscles shifting under the terrible weight of the trembling, of their cruel universe, until he had collapsed beside her onto the bed. The smell of earth and spice, Jace’s scent, flooded her dizzied senses as he then pressed her to him, as though he was trying to fold her into his chest; into his heart. He spoke into her sunset locks, his voice drowning in unmistakable longing the likes she’d never heard before. The unguarded want in his words was more potent than anything she’d ever imagined, sending shivers dancing down her spine and electrifying every fiber of her being. 

“...You  _ have _ to. Because I’m a lost cause, Clary. You can rely on me for anything else.. But not this. I will  _ never _ be able to stay away from you.” 

Her breath was squeezed from her throat. His lips grazed her ear, his breath sweeping over her neck as he went on, causing her vision to blur and her pulse to race wretchedly down to the finest capillaries in her skin. 

“I failed you from the first day I met you. You’ll have to send me away, because I’m not strong enough to stop loving you. I would _ still  _ love you through all the ruin and consequence,” he confessed miserably. 

She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her cheek, the urgent heave of his chest as he struggled for air while his arms quaked all around her. Despite the proximity, she knew he was still somehow holding back; still waiting for her to say the words that would send them both careening into oblivion. She could feel how much he hungered for that sweet destruction just as she did; he had unwittingly shown her as much at Magnus’. 

But she couldn’t do it. She loved him too much, whatever he was to her, to do that to him. Again, she had failed at her duty; at protecting the ones she cared about most. She had been too weak to spare Jace from this horrendous, soul-crushing want, because she’d been too afraid of facing it alone. She’d assumed he was invincible, and placed all the burden on the aloof facade he presented to the world, coaxing herself into believing that it was the truth. She’d convinced herself that he was in control, until the energy spell revealed what lay beneath… a love so strong it constantly threatened to crush them both; the same which whirled in her own heart. She’d been depending on the mirage of Jace’s control, and had mindlessly relented the moment it had dissolved.

The horrifying picture of their future dawned on her then; they would continue to bait each other in an endless circle of disappointment and pain, each unwittingly tempting the other towards a world of damnation without resolution. If Hell really did exist, she was sure it was there, right then, in the heat slithering between their skins. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered mournfully. There was nothing else to say. 

“Don’t,” he said, a bit more evenly now. He gently stroked her hair. “It’s not your fault. We’re  _ both _ cursed. Our bloodline made sure of that.” 

_ “I love you so much,” _ she thought pointlessly, wishing she could say it, wishing it could soothe him somehow. Wishing she could make everything alright again, though it never truly had been. Wishing for the ignorance that had made her so happy. 

Jace’s breathing had calmed. 

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he said emptily, though he allowed his lips to briefly press themselves to her forehead. It was wholly unsatisfying sensation, filling her with nothing but acrid sadness which burnt behind her throat. She buried her face further into his chest as the tears finally came. 

Jace coiled himself more tightly around her, holding on for dear life. 


End file.
